


March Prompt List

by ShadowHeartofFaith



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arlathan, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHeartofFaith/pseuds/ShadowHeartofFaith
Summary: A series of one-shots following Valyria and Solas from ancient Elvhenan to modern day Thedas and their time in the Inquisition.A 31 day prompt list for the month of March.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlemissjigglypuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissjigglypuff/gifts).



> So I started a March Prompt list with my amazing Tumblr friend @inquisitor-selvala.  
> There is one prompt per day and I have taken the opportunity to work on my lovely OC Valyria and her vhen'an, Solas.
> 
> Day 1. Garden

            Sunlight filters through the treetops, bathing the flowering blooms in the soft warm light of coming dusk.

            The fragrance of flowers perfumes the air and Valyria smiles, running gentle fingers along the curling waxy petals of pink tulips. Creeping vines cover tall trellises and ornate marble statues stand at attention amid beds of vegetables. The likenesses of dragons and griffons and halla.

            It is Valyria’s haven.

            When Solas had stolen her away from slowly crumbling Arlathan and far from Elvhenan’s reach, they had settled here. The village is small and the people are friendly, if not cautious, and her heart swells with the realization that she is free here.

            Green hills flow across the countryside like cresting waves in the sea and a griffon somersaults through the air high above. The air feels lighter here and the cool shadow of their small stone house brings her comfort, though this sprawling garden will always be her favorite addition to their new life.

            She eases down into soft grass, her skirts pooling around her.

            Butterflies with silky wings that are the color of gemstones float by on the breeze and she breathes in deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

            “I knew I would find you here.”

            Her lips spread in a smile but she does not open her eyes.

            She can feel his familiar warmth, hear the slight hum of his magic, as he settles himself at her side. His fingers tangle with hers in her lap, his thumb rubbing across her knuckles, and his shoulder lightly bumps against hers as he shifts closer.

             _“Vhen’an”,_  she finally greets.

             _“Emma lath”,_ he replies lowly, his lips pressing tenderly to her brow. “I’ve a gift for you.”

            She cracks one eye open at that. “Oh?”

            Solas chuckles. “Indeed.”

            “That is unnecessary,  _ma’isha”,_  she tells him but she is warmed with the notion that he has been thinking of her.

            “You are my heart”, he murmurs, turning her face to his. “What sort of lover would I be if I did not show the one I love that I am devoted to her?”

            An amused grin splits across her face at that. “Very well,  _vhen’an._  Far be it from me to impede upon your duties as a lover.”

            “Tease if you will, Valyria.”

            He stands and offers a hand, pulling her to her feet.

            She follows him dutifully back into the house. All of the drapes are pulled aside to allow the dying rays of the sun to paint the walls and floor in hues of deep orange and fiery red.

            The little table by the hearth is littered with leather-bound books and leafy green plants in resin pots of all colors. Within the stone cage of the fireplace sits a heavy soup crock and three skillets hang on the wall above the beginnings of Solas’s latest fresco.

Candles flicker to life as he leads her down the hall and into the room that they share.

            He stands at the threshold, leaning into the doorframe and watches her slowly pad into the room.

            Petals cover the floor and around the posts of their bed twine delicate vines with trumpeting flowers of gold and lavender. He has enchanted the room to look as though trees stand in each corner of the room and a leafy canopy hangs over their bed.

            She clasps her hands over her heart and turns to face him. “It’s lovely, Solas. How did you-?”

            He steps up to meet her, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I know how you love your flowers and I wanted to expand upon your garden. If only for tonight.”

            “Why tonight?” she asks, looking up into his brilliant eyes.

            He smirks. “Sixty-two years ago you led me out into a hedge maze and raced through the trees at my side. And in a field filled with flowers-”

            Tears prickle hotly at the backs of her eyes and she surges up on her toes to claim his lips in a searing kiss.

            She will always remember the night they stole away from Elgar’nan’s keep late in the night to run like wolves through the forests and far away from duty and slavery. And to think that he had been keeping track of all of the passing years…her chest is tight with love and longing and she cannot seem to get close enough to him.

          Her arms wrap around his neck and he holds her tightly as lips and teeth and tongue lash together in appreciation and desperation.

He chuckles lowly into her mouth. “I take it you approve of your gift.”

            “It is…I cannot do it justice,  _ma’sa’lath. Ma serannas”,_ she whispers when he presses his brow to hers, his nose nuzzling at her.

             _“Ar lath ma, vhen’an”,_  he rumbles, his voice dropping sinfully low.

            Her fingers card through his much-shorter hair and she pulls him flush against her.

            His hands squeeze at her hips and he walks her back toward their bed, head dipping low so he can nibble at her collarbone.

            The backs of her legs hit the mattress and he pushes her down amid lush flower petals and soft grass and turning moss before climbing up after her on his hands and knees. His body covers hers as he rests on his elbows, gazing down at her.

_“Ir'ina'lan'ehn_ _”,_  he breathes, moving to capture her mouth again.

            Valyria’s legs cage him in, her ankles crossing over the small of his back.

They move against each other in a familiar rhythm that still leaves her breathless and wound hopelessly tight. His teeth sink lightly into her lower lip when she smooths her tongue along his. Her hips grind against his and he bucks down into her with a groan.

He pulls away for air, eyes roving over her face.

Her hands come up to frame his face, a thumb tracing along the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “Oh, my love”, she sighs.

            The twining branches of Mythal’s vallaslin no longer mar his features and she revels in the smatter of light freckles across his forehead and over the bridge of his nose. The bright shine of his blue eyes as they pin her in place.

            Her fingertips trace along the blade of his ear and she hears him suck in a breath. Words are heavy on her tongue and as she leans up to whisper them against his lips, he interrupts her.

            “Marry me”, he says in a tone low and desperate. “Tomorrow in the garden. Marry me.”

            She gazes up at him dumbly as her thoughts ricochet around in her skull.

            “Yes”, she murmurs after a moment. “Yes.”

            They fall back onto the mattress in a loose tangle of limbs. The soft ardent press of lips and laughing whispers of “Yes, yes, yes.”

 


	2. Flower Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started a March Prompt list with my amazing Tumblr friend @inquisitor-selvala.  
> There is one prompt per day and I have taken the opportunity to work on my lovely OC Valyria and her vhen'an, Solas.
> 
> Day 2. Flower Crown

            Dorian’s laughter carries across from the fire and Valyria feels a sad smile tug at her lips.

            She keeps her focus down on her hands as her fingers move across green stems and bright daisies. She weaves them into a circle, the practice ancient and soothing as she works by the dim firelight of the torches placed around the camp.

            Her thoughts drift back to the old ruins and Ameridan’s sage words.

             _“Take what happiness you can find. The world will take the rest.”_

            A knot forms in the pit of her stomach and an old pain rises up inside of her like bile.

            “Tired, back aching, feet are swollen. She kicks and kicks and then-”

            Valyria’s eyes widen and she turns to Cole at her side, the flowers falling into her lap in a mess of petals. She leans over to grasp the boy’s hand, shaking her head slightly. “Please…I don’t want them to hear”, she pleads, tears prickling at the backs of her eyes.

            “It still hurts”, Cole insists, more softly this time.

            She nods slowly. “Yes…it will likely always hurt. But it is not a hurt you can help, Cole. No matter how much I wish it.”

            “The flowers help”, he replies. “Weaving. Takes your mind from the pain and the memories are happy. You think of the dress, the silk tickling against your skin. The way his face lights up when he sees you. The crown of bright flowers in your hair… _you are so beautiful.”_

Her smile is watery as she looks up at Cole. “You really can see it all, can’t you?”

            “I want to help”, he says. “You have been kind to me. You let me stay to help. And _you_ need my help.”

            She squeezes his fingers and Cole’s blue eyes lift to hers. “You are a marvelous spirit, Cole. You help more than you realize,  _da’len.”_

            He studies her closely for a time. “Will you teach me? To weave the flowers?”

            She laughs. “I would be happy to teach you.”

            Cole shifts through the wicker basket at her side where all of the blooms lay in careful bundles. “They’re pretty”, he informs her, lifting up a sunflower. “So bright and vibrant. Reaching toward the sun. Innocent and determined to grow.”

            Cole’s presence brings back memories of Curiosity.

            She fondly recalls the clinging little spirit that had often dogged her steps in the Vir Dirthara. Another life in another world that is long gone.

            She shows Cole how to twist the stems into the proper shape and fit them together to form a circle. He fumbles a bit as he follows her steps but he is determined to learn and it warms her heart like a happy ember and she can’t help but wonder how things could have been.

           

_Her back rests against Solas’s chest, her legs stretched out in front of her in the field._

_One of his hands presses gently against the tense knots in her shoulders, the other drifting down to rest on the growing swell of her belly. He seems content to simply rest in the knowledge of new life forming within her._

_He presses a gentle kiss to her temple. “You are radiant, vhen’an.”_

_She chuckles, laying her hand over his on her belly. “I do not feel radiant. Everything aches as the babe grows.”_

_“It is a magic all its own to carry a child. And you wield such magic beautifully, ma’asha.”_

_The babe gives a gentle kick to where their hands are joined and she can feel Solas’s smile. “She will be as lovely and spirited as her mother.”_

_Valyria snorts. “She? Do you crave a daughter, ma’isha?”_

_“Any man would be graced to love two such beautiful creatures. I intend to be such a man.”_

_She tilts her head back to nuzzle at the underside of his jaw. “Ar lath ma, vhen’an.”_

_He smiles warmly and places a gentle kiss on her lips. “Ar lath ma”, he repeats._

_She returns to her work, threading the final bloom in place. Staring down at the dainty crown of flowers in her hands, she has a warm thought that tingles down to her toes. “Perhaps it will be a daughter”, she decides softly, her hand returning to the swell of her belly where the babe kicks and turns._

            Cole removes his hat in silence before placing the crown on his head. The sunflowers rest on his unruly mop of blonde hair and Valyria cannot help but laugh.

            “It’s lovely, Cole. Truly”, she praises through her amusement.

            The boy smiles broadly. “Light and happy, calm and loving. So many flowers pushing up from the earth. All of the colors, just for me-”

             _“Vhen’an.”_

            Cole looks up before Valyria does, going silent as he takes in Solas standing above them.

_“Oh”,_ the boy says thoughtfully. “So many ties…so many strings. Some complicated and old, some new and bright…all for love.”

            “Cole”, Solas greets simply with a nod before turning to Valyria. “A word, Inquisitor?”

            She passes her basket of flowers to Cole for safekeeping. “Practice until I get back?”

            “I’ll make one for Dorian. He enjoys pretty things”, Cole tells her, his tone serious and resolute.

            Valyria laughs once more. “Yes. Yes, he does.”

            Solas pulls her to her feet, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as he leads her out into the grassy fields of the Emerald Graves.

            They walk in silence until the lights from the camp are tiny specks of color behind them.

            “What troubles you, my heart?” she whispers into the dimness.

            “The mark”, he begins thickly. “Does it…does it trouble you?”

            “No more than usual”, she replies, one brow quirking up. “Has something happened?”

            He shakes his head as if clearing away a troublesome thought. “No”, he says distractedly. “No…why were you making those crowns with Cole?”

            “He knows about the babe…he will be discreet.”

            Solas frowns at the mention of their lost child, pulling her into the circle of his arms. “Are you-?”

            “I will be fine”, she mumbles into his shoulder as she melts against him. “I am exhausted from all of this deception. I do not wish to restrain myself from you, my heart.”

            He sighs heavily against her, lips pressing into her hair. “They cannot know. But perhaps certain… _concessions_ …can be made. In regards to our  _courtship.”_

            She cannot help but roll her eyes. “We are bound, Solas. We have been bound for centuries. Your  _vhen’an_ misses your company in her bed.”

            He chuckles lowly. “Yes. As I said, concessions can be made, Lady Inquisitor.”

            “You know how I hate when you call me that”, she grouses, disentangling herself from him.

            His laughter begins anew and he catches her hand before she can move away from him. “Allow me to apologize properly”, he insists and places a fresh flower crown upon her head before pressing his lips to hers.

 


	3. "The pot calling the kettle black"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started a March Prompt list with my amazing Tumblr friend @inquisitor-selvala.  
> There is one prompt per day and I have taken the opportunity to work on my lovely OC Valyria and her vhen'an, Solas.
> 
> Day 3. "The pot calling the kettle black."

           When she enters the rotunda, she finds Solas with his hands braced against his desk and his head bowed as he seethes over an open tome. His frustration whips about like a crackle of lightning filling the room and she sighs.

            On soft feet she approaches him, calling,  _“Vhen’an?”_

            He does not look up at her so she moves behind him to wrap her arms around his middle.

            Solas tenses beneath her touch, the line of his spine going rigid and his shoulders tightening. “I am quite busy, my heart. May I find you later?” he grounds out in a clipped tone that takes her aback.

            “I am here now”, she begins carefully, withdrawing her touch. “Have I done something to cause you pain, my love?”

            “Please, Valyria. Later.”

            Her teeth sink into her lower lip and she moves to stand in front of him.  _“Emma lath,_ speak to me.”

            His eyes glint angrily when he raises his gaze to meet hers. “Have you begun to agree with the shem’len,  _ma’asha?_  Tell me truly. You seem so quick to forgive their petty squabbles nowadays. Are you not still  _solafen’harel?”_

            Her teeth click together in frustration and she straightens up before him. “You know that I am”, she all but growls.

            “Then tell me, how is that you can allow these Grey Wardens to enter the ranks of the Inquisition freely? Do you fail to see the corruption running rampant among them? They would do anything to destroy the Blight. It impairs their judgment-”

            “Oh, that is absolutely  _rich_  coming from you!” she laughs mirthlessly. “They would do anything to keep their world safe from something that we can scarcely comprehend. You do not fear the Wardens,  _vhen’an._ You fear yourself.”

            “In what way would I fear myself?” he spits back at her, standing tall to face her properly.

            She cocks one hip and pretends to ponder his question for a tense moment. “Oh, what is it that the shem’len say?  _The pot calling the kettle black?_  Yes, I do believe that suits you finely,  _ma fen._  You, yourself, are willing to do anything to save the world that you covet so.”

            “I would not have-”

             _“Gone to Corypheus?”_  she hisses lowly to avoid being heard. “Oh, wait! Poor precious Elvhenan, let us resurrect you with the help of a crazed magister!”

            Solas’s eyes narrow dangerously. “You step too far,  _ma lath.”_

            “I have not yet begun”, she spits angrily.

            “By your leave, _Inquisitor”,_ Solas grits out from between clenched teeth.

            When he moves to leave, she holds up a hand.  _“Ma nuvenin, Fen’Harel”,_  she growls and stalks past him out into the main hall.

            She feels his eyes boring into her back as she marches stiffly from his line of sight.

             _The nerve of him!_  she thinks to herself as she fumes. To question her decision in this matter when he himself had made these same errors in judgment. She had forgiven  _him!_  Waking from  _uthenera_  to find that she had woken alone and that he had deceived her into early slumber to enact his plans without her. He had woken months later after she had been all but alone in the world without him, learning everything that she could as she searched for his resting place.

            Had he no faith in her? After all of these years?

            The anchor flares along her palm, his magic washing over her anew and she wants to scream at the irony of it all.

            She snatches up a sword in the training yard, spinning it deftly with one hand before lashing out one of the straw-filled training dummies as she had often seen Cassandra do.

            She hacks at the canvas effigy, cursing lowly in elven as her blade hits home against bones of wood. She howls in frustration before throwing the iron blade to the ground and blasting the dummy with lightning.

            Tendrils of smoke waft up from singed canvas skin and she hears someone clear their throat behind her.

            Chest heaving and cheeks flushed from exertion she turns to find Cullen standing awkwardly a few paces away.

            “Inquisitor”, he greets, one hand rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck. “Testing out the equipment, I see.”

            Her mouth goes dry as she grapples for an appropriate response to nearly lighting a training dummy on fire. “I…uh…I needed to hit something”, she says lamely in reply.

            Cullen chuckles. “Yes, well, don’t we all?”

            She tugs at her tunic nervously to avoid meeting his amber stare. “My apologies, Commander. It’s been…it’s been a long day.”

            He nods in understanding. “Word of Adamant has spread. What happened there will likely change the Inquisition in the eyes of many. We gain more and more recruits by the day and I cannot say I am not relieved to have the Wardens among our ranks.”

            “Do you think I did the right thing?” she asks. “Allowing them to join us?”

            “The Grey Wardens are all that stand between Thedas and complete chaos. What happened with Corypheus cannot be allowed to happen again, that much is certain. But with safe guards in place to protect our mages, we can surely avoid such an event from occurring a second time, don’t you think?”

            She lets that sink in for a moment.

            To believe in something so strongly that you would sacrifice anything to protect the people that you thought you were serving. To have so much pride in the place you call home…

             _“I always thought he was more of a spirit of Curiosity than of Pride”,_ Wisdom had told Valyria once.  _“But his pride in The People…his devotion to Elvhenan has made him more.”_

            She swallows hard as she hears her own harsh words echo in her ears and shame ties a thick knot in her gut.

            Solas had deceived her at the fall of Arlathan, yes. He had goaded her into an early sleep before his plans had come to fruition to save her from Elgar’nan’s vengeance and Andruil’s wrath. And she had woken alone, heartbroken and confused.

            And she has been carrying her anger toward him like a heavy yoke on a druffalo.

            She _hasn’t_ forgiven him as she has claimed so many times…

            Her eyes lift to Cullen’s. “Thank you for your insight, Commander. It has been most helpful.”

            Before he can respond she is striding back toward Skyhold’s main tower, her mind abuzz with words and apologies and determination.

            She finds the rotunda abandoned. The library is empty save Fiona and Minaeve conversing quietly over the treatment of demon wounds. Even Dorian has moved on for the evening, leaving the place quiet and sparse.

            She ventures down to the lowest floor where the archived texts are kept, ancient and dusty. Sconces of Veil Fire are lit along the walls but Solas is nowhere to be found.

            Heaving a sigh, Valyria ventures back toward her private chambers.

             _“Ma’sa’lath.”_

            Her heart hammers at the steady sound of his voice and she finds herself crossing the room in quick steps to throw her arms around him.

            He staggers a step, his own arms circling around her tightly to hold her to his chest.

             _“Ir abelas-”_

_“Ir abelas-”_

            They both pause to look at each other, to let the moment sink in.

            “Me first”, Valyria insists gently.

            Solas nods, hands settling along her waist.

            “I should not have said those things to you,  _vhen’an._  You were only trying to help Elvhenan. You were trying to protect me. I suppose I had not forgiven you for putting me to sleep so long before you…and I forgive you”, she explains, plucking at the cording of the jawbone around his neck.

            “My love…”

            “You never deigned to be a god, Solas.  _Ir abelas._  It was callous of me to treat you like an unfeeling tyrant.”

            His fingers clasp her chin and angle her face up to his. _“Ma’asha”,_ he begins to quiet her rush of words. “The fault is mine. I should never have doubted you. You have shown such wisdom in leading this Inquisition. There has been a graceful subtlety to all of your actions and I am very proud of you,  _ma lath._  In more ways than you can imagine. I should not have left you behind in Arlathan but you are right, I am afraid of myself. I was afraid that you would see what I would have to become to lock away the Evanuris. I was afraid that I would lose you to their fury or to my own foolishness.” He lets out a bark of laughter and nods toward her desk. “I suppose flowers are an insufficient apology for such foolish behavior.”

            The bouquet of wildflowers stares back at her and her heart lodges in her throat.

             _“Nas’falon”,_  she reminds him in a murmur. She takes his hand and sets it over her heart.  _“Bel’annar’is.”_

             _“Ma serannas, ma vhen’an”,_  Solas says thickly, her heart beating strongly beneath his palm. “You have loved an old wolf through trying times and not once doubted, have you?”

            “There may have been a time or two”, she admits teasingly with a smirk.

            His blue eyes roll skyward and he lets out a huff of amusement.

             _“Ma ghilana,_  Fen’Harel”, she says, laying her head against his shoulder.

            He smooths a hand through her silver tresses and whispers, “No.  _Ma ghilana,_  Valyria.”

 


	4. "What on earth are you wearing?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started a March Prompt list with my amazing Tumblr friend @inquisitor-selvala.  
> There is one prompt per day and I have taken the opportunity to work on my lovely OC Valyria and her vhen'an, Solas.
> 
> Day 4. "What on earth are you wearing?"

           "What on earth are you wearing?” Dorian splutters when Solas steps into the courtyard.

            Valyria turns at the commotion, the tulle of her skirts rustling.

            Solas is striding towards them with Cullen trudging close behind. On his head is a shining ornate helmet that looks more befitting a tomb than a grand Orlesian ball.

            She can’t help the small smile that spreads across her lips and she thinks of another life where his hair had been fashioned into long ropes and held back with toggles of bone and precious metals. His armour had always been polished to perfection and he had gleamed like the sun.

            The small hairs on her arms and the back of her neck raise as the memories flutter in her belly like a thousand butterflies.

            “It is a helmet, Lord Pavus”, Solas quips without preamble.

            “No, it’s hideous, _that’s_ what it is”, Dorian retorts in outrage. “You intend to walk into the Imperial Court before the Empress herself wearing  _that?”_

            Vivienne and Josephine are making polite conversation with their host as the ten carriages are pulled up before the grand estate. She can make out snatches of their heavy accents curling around words meant to impress rather than show genuine appreciation.

             _“Posturing is necessary”,_  Solas has told her on more than one occasion.

            She hopes she can prove herself to be the kind of leader that he had been. That he still is in so many ways.

            “I feel ridiculous”, Cassandra grouses beneath her breath.

            Valyria tears her eyes from Solas and looks to the woman at her side. Her ensemble is comprised of leathers and silks and she looks every inch a dragon hunter. “You look splendid, _ma falon”,_ Valyria assures her. “And I am sure you’ve found ways to hide blades beneath your skirts.”

            Cassandra gives a half-hearted smirk. “You are quite chipper.”

            “I find it eases the nerves to act with false confidence”, she provides.

            She hears Josephine gently discouraging Solas from his choice of head gear and the helmet is soon tucked beneath his arm. Dorian seems rather pleased with himself at the turn of events and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

            “Inquisitor…you look-”, Cullen stammers out when he sees her.

            Her cheeks flush when her entire inner circle turns their appraising gazes to her form.

            “Do not fidget, my dear”, Vivienne chides patiently. “You look radiant.”

            Solas’s eyes narrow on her and she can feel the lustful hunger behind his eyes as the anchor warms against her palm. He says nothing but she can feel his intent.

            “Solas, I think I have fallen in love”, Dorian comments off-handedly. “I do believe I’m going to have to steal her away from you.”

            Solas smirks, a tiny quirk of his lips, and shakes his head once. “You could not handle her. She is a wolf.”

            Valyria grins at that, a smile that is all teeth and approval.

             _Solafen’harel._

            They all cram into the carriages and she is sat beside Cullen as Josephine prattles on to remind her of protocol and etiquette. She reminds her of the names of each member presiding on the Council of Heralds and begins a recounting of family lineage on Empress Celene’s side of the royal line until Leliana lays a hand on the ambassador’s shoulder.

            “Josie, she will be perfect”, the spymaster says soothingly. “She has been studying with Vivienne for months. We will wow the court.”

            Valyria smooths her hands against her long green skirts, the vines along her bodice reminding her of the forests of Elvhenan. Solas’s jawbone is tucked down between her breasts and hidden from view but its familiar weight against her skin centers her and she breathes deeply through her nose.

            “Are you alright?” Cullen whispers lowly into her ear.

            Josephine and Leliana have started up a new conversation about this season’s fashion in Orlais across from them.

            Valyria nods. “I am fine”, she assures him. “It will all be fine.”

            “If it’s any consolation, I’m even less enthused than you are, Lady Inquisitor”, Cullen says.

            She lets out a small breathy laugh. “Between Josephine and Vivienne, I am well prepared for the deception and games of the court.”

            She does not mention her own days in such a court.

            She had been a slave, yes, but Elvhenan had had far more delicate practices than the utilization of three forks in a single meal. She thinks of Elgar’nan’s lingering stares and the revealing silk dresses she had worn while carrying large pitchers of wine. She thinks of Andruil’s bow and her crazed golden stare. The grasping hands of the twins as they hauled her into darkened halls-

            Valyria thinks of Solas.

            The gentle press of his lips to her brow every time he saw her. The way he would hold her hand, their fingers enlaced. The whisper of his breath against her ear and the steady rise and fall of his chest behind her as they slept.

            “But?” Cullen presses.

            Valyria grasps for a response.

             _Halam’shiral._

            “It will be difficult to see such a historic piece of my people’s plight perverted by such a deceptive human game. Did Celene not just burn down alienages within her own city?”

            That should explain her sudden breathlessness, she decides. Should mask the sudden fear that Elgar’nan and Andruil invoke.

            Cullen lays a hand over hers and gives her a comforting smile. “No harm will come to you”, he assures her and she wishes that could comfort her.

            She nods. “I know. It is just…a deep ache”, she responds.

            Cullen’s amber eyes bore into hers and she is grateful when the carriage stops and a courtier helps her disembark.

            She holds her head high and imagines a mighty sword at her hip and a wolf pelt slung about her shoulders and channels the kind of power she had felt when she had been freshly freed from chains.

            Heads turn to her as she strides through the gates of the palace alongside her advisors.

             _“Is that her?”_

_“An elf? The Maker would send no savage in our time of need!”_

_“I hear she lived in the forest like an animal!”_

_“Look at that hideous dress.”_

_“What on earth is she wearing?!”_

_“I heard her invitation came from Gaspard-”_

_“She disgraces the Empress with her presence-”_

            She clenches her jaw and steels her spine as she weaves between the onlookers and gawkers, Solas’s jawbone heavy against her breast.

             _Solafen’harel,_  she reminds herself.  _I am the pride of the Dread Wolf._

            She realizes how they see her here in this place that once belonged to remnants of her people. She is little more than a beast.

            And a beast she will be. A charming beast that will crush them all in her lovely jaws.

 


	5. "To succeed in life, you need three things" (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started a March Prompt list with my amazing Tumblr friend @inquisitor-selvala.  
> There is one prompt per day and I have taken the opportunity to work on my lovely OC Valyria and her vhen'an, Solas.
> 
> Day 5. "To succeed in life, you need three things: a wishbone, a backbone, and a funny bone"-Reba McEntire
> 
> This one kinda got away from me. NSFW kinda.

           "To succeed in this life you will need three things,  _lethallan”,_  Wisdom says as Valyria wades out into the river. “Determination, a solid backbone, and a sense of humor. The lives of the shem’len are often short and filled with insurmountable tragedy. To be a true leader among them, you will need a sense of humor above all.”

            “It is quite obvious that she possesses the other two qualities in spades”, Solas intones teasingly from the shore.

            Valyria shoots him a withering look and eases down into the cool rush of water and immerses herself in the echoing notes of the Song. Being sundered from the Fade often leaves her feeling disconnected and vulnerable. The ice comes to her fingertips more slowly now, the storm requires a stronger call. The Veil had solved a pressing issue but had created a plethora of its own problems to contend with.

            “What do you plan to do with Halam’shiral,  _vhen’an?”_  Solas calls to her.

            “Must we talk of the Inquisition? It is  _my_  dream,  _vhen’an!”_  Valyria groans, slippery rocks pressing against the bare soles of her feet.

            “It is a prominent issue,  _ma lath._  One that draws closer every day.”

            “He is not wrong”, Wisdom agrees. “You will be tried and tested to walk among the Orlesian nobility. They do not recognize The People. Knowledge has showed me a great many things that have unfolded over the years on the soil of Halam’shiral.”

            “Perhaps I will win them over with my dazzling personality”, Valyria deadpans, ringing out her long silver hair. “I will have to procure a sense of humor worthy of nobility.”

            Solas shakes his head in exasperation.

            He rises and wades out into the water. “A moment,  _falon?”_ he asks of Wisdom.

            The spirit bows its head and disappears from view.

            Solas moves through the water toward his lover.

            Valyria backstrokes away from him, her feet kicking up a spray of water.

            “Adorable,  _vhen’an”,_  he grouses, rubbing the spray from his eyes.

            She grins cheekily. “It is my dream”, she insists again. “Allow me to enjoy the Song, my heart.”

            Solas catches her with practiced ease and hefts her up into the cradle of his arms.

            “My Dread Wolf”, she purrs, one hand smoothing over the dark razed stubble on his head.

            His hold shifts and he draws her closer. “Why here?” he murmurs, lowering his brow to rest against hers.

            “We were happiest here”, she sighs against him. “The flowers and the trees. The mountains kept us safe. There is no love lost for Elvhenan, Fen’Harel. But I would do it all again for that small house on the hill with you. Our garden sprawling through the fields.” She traces the sharp blade of his ear, her eyes following the path of her fingertips. “Our daughter…”

            Solas’s breath catches in his throat and he presses his lips to hers.  _“Ir abelas, vhen’an._  Life has dealt us a cruel hand, indeed.”

            She shakes her head and guides him back to her.

            The same desperation is there as always, the fear of losing one another, but the kiss is languid in nature. A revelation of a time long past and a home and a family long forgotten.

            She sighs into his mouth when his tongue curls around hers, one of his hands cupping the curve of her ass.

            They had danced like this before, bare skin glittering with the droplets from the river, the moon high above them as wolves howled in the distant hills.

            The memory settles into place and Solas stills as magic prickles along his skin.

            Valyria smiles up at him, one hand reaching for the end of one of his braids. “There. Perfect.”

            Solas sighs. “Not quite.”

            Her soaked tunic disappears and her chest flushes red as Solas studies her bare breasts appraisingly. “There. Now, that is… _perfect.”_

            “I thought this was meant to be about the thrills of courtly intrigue and the keys to my success”, she reminds him.

            “Sex is a matter of courtly intrigue if I remember correctly”, he hums, carrying her back toward the river bank. “You’ve the determination to be a great leader”, he continues, laying her out on the damp grass and her hair spills across the green like a curtain made of stardust. His fingers encircle her ankle and lift her leg to allow him to press a kiss to the sole of her foot. “You have an indomitable focus and no tolerance for cruelty.”

             _Not so indomitable,_  she thinks before her thoughts shatter apart at the feel of his hands massaging her bare skin.

She moans when his lips venture higher, littering kisses across her thighs and the jut of her hips and the flatness of her belly that is marked with so many scars.

            He looks up at her from between her legs, his expression absolutely wolfish. “Allow me to help you find your sense of humor,  _ma’asha.”_

            Her head falls back into the soft grass and her eyes screw shut with need as he begins pulling her apart.

 


End file.
